


Ego Trip Down Memory Lane

by Kirsten



Category: Smallville
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-28
Updated: 2002-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was about two in the afternoon, mid-July, and the concrete city centre had become one giant furnace even though the sky was clouded over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ego Trip Down Memory Lane

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Destina for beta reading.

It was about two in the afternoon, mid-July, and the concrete city centre had become one giant furnace even though the sky was clouded over. Dry wild wind gusted between the skyscrapers, but it only pushed the smog around.

I could see the air of Metropolis around me as I walked, flat and heavy and almost drifting, slow and fat like a python. My chest felt tight and harsh just looking at it. Asthma and Metropolis -- not a good combination in the height of summer. My light suit and even lighter shirt were sticky with sweat, clinging to my body like a second skin. I wasn't wearing a tie; I couldn't bear the extra material around my neck. I'd have walked through the city naked if possible, but that wasn't the done thing when calling on one million dollars.

I arrived at the Luthor place a little after two, cursing myself, Lionel Luthor, the weather -- just about the whole damn world. I couldn't deal with other people and their crap along with the heat, and it took too much effort to be polite. I elbowed my way through the crowds of reporters on Lionel's doorstep, and virtually fell into the building, through the wide stained-glass entrance doors that depicted Alexander the Great and his goddamn Gordian knot.

Subtlety wasn't Lionel Luthor's forte.

Lionel was announcing his latest coup to the press. He'd met my eye as I shoved my way to sanctuary, smoothly answering questions while simultaneously warning me with a glance not to make trouble while I waited. As if I would. As if I didn't know that Lionel Luthor could make me disappear in the blink of an eye. As if I didn't know that Lionel Luthor had owned me, body and soul, right from the moment I'd walked into his office.

The hallway was cool. I stank like boiled meat, foul and cooked like a lump of bacon in water. I felt grimy and wilted, and that isn't a good way to feel when meeting a billionaire who also, by the way, happens to own half the country and maybe more than half the people in it.

I shucked out of my suit jacket and flapped my sodden shirt to get some air moving over my skin. It felt good, in a decadent, dangerous kind of way -- to relax in the lion's lair. The Luthors liked their air conditioning.

There was an oil portrait of Lionel Luthor hanging on one wall. It was a strange thing to find; he was an arrogant bastard who thought he could own the whole world, but that didn't seem like his style. It lacked class -- something the Luthors practically oozed. Still, maybe it wasn't so surprising, from a guy who liked to flaunt his metaphors in polite company, instead of keeping them quiet and secret and locked firmly behind closed doors like any decent, normal person.

I was staring at the portrait when I heard footsteps come down the ornate staircase at the back of the hall. A boy, thirteen or so, short and slim. He was dressed all in black, a damn stupid colour to wear in summer. All it did was suck up the heat, but maybe he needed it. The look he gave me was sort of frosty. Assessing, too; standing in the shadows, he looked like a miniature undertaker, his skin pale and his gaze steady as he watched at me. It was an unnerving look to get from a kid.

He was also bald. That was unnerving, too, 'cause it made him look like one of those little grey aliens with big bug eyes. Lionel Luthor's freakish son, who bared a stunning resemblance to my nephew.

My nephew was a cancer patient.

He came over near me and smiled with his mouth, almost as if he knew what I was thinking. "Quiet, aren't you?" he observed.

I didn't answer. If you have nothing worth saying, don't say anything at all. My father taught me that.

His lips quirked. He was amused. "You're funny, too," he told me, before scowling again. "But maybe you're not as funny as you think you are."

I shrugged, my sweat-damp shirt pulling on my skin.

"What's your name?"

"Avery," I said. "Robert Avery."

"I know that name." He frowned and glanced briefly at the stained-glass entrance doors. Extreme distaste flickered over his face before his gaze fell on a small table that stood near the staircase. A number of newspapers lay folded upon it. He looked back at me, smiling in satisfaction. "You work for The Daily Planet."

"Not exactly. I work freelance."

He grunted at that, his round apple cheekbones sharpened in the dim light and shadows of the hall. "Why do you want to see Lionel?"

I thought it best not to answer. Besides, he probably already knew that investigative reporters didn't come to see Lionel Luthor unless they had business arrangements to deal with. Business arrangements not usually of the strictly legal kind.

He stared at me again, and I felt slightly ridiculous for feeling so proud that I managed not to squirm. He's just a kid. Get over it, I told myself, as I watched him walk toward the small table with the newspapers. He picked up yesterday's edition of the Planet, and read the lead article on the front page before flicking through to follow it on page three, column one.

Okay, I allowed. So he's a weird kid who reads newspapers. But still, get over it, because that doesn't make him creepy.

"You wrote this," he said, after a while.

"I write a lot of things."

He nodded. He read a little further, then said: "You really thought that Adam Remmington was buying off the mayor?"

"Not me. The Daily Planet."

His eyebrows rose.

I explained. "Mr Luthor wanted me to suggest -- convincingly -- that was the case. When the police department saw the Daily Planet giving credence to those allegations --"

"Remmington and the mayor were arrested on corruption charges, and Lionel took over Remmington Construction," he interrupted, rolling his eyes. "I get it. Divide and conquer."

I nodded, and decided not to mention the nice fat payoff I picked up for providing my services. He already knew, and he didn't look at all surprised.

The entrance doors swung open and we briefly heard cameras clicking and reporters screaming. Lionel Luthor stepped through, as cool as ice and staring at me with tranquil eyes. If he guessed what we'd been discussing, he didn't show it. If he cared -- who knew?

I sort of felt sorry for the boy. Destined to be an arrogant bastard, just like his father. Luthor is as Luthor does.

The boy took one look at his father and then turned and walked away. Ouch. His footsteps faded as he went back upstairs.

Lionel took no notice, or pretended not to. "We can conclude our transaction now, Mr Avery."

"Your son?" I asked, jerking my head in the direction of the staircase.

"Yes," said Lionel Luthor, and there was a hint of pride in his voice. Mold the son into the father's image, I thought, as Lionel turned and led me through to his study.

I followed. Lionel's desk was large and made of oak, and presently covered by a huge map of Kansas. "Planning a trip?" I asked.

"To Kansas?" He laughed. "Not likely. This is the future, Mr Avery. Your future, my future, because it's Lex's future."

"Oh?"

"This is what I'm going to give him when he's twenty-one years old," he said, pointing to a specific spot. I examined it closely. Smallville, in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, complete with huge industrial plant and a whole lot of fields.

I felt bad. According to the rumours -- and I heard a lot of rumours in my line of work -- that was where Lex Luthor lost his hair. And maybe a little of his mind, as well. What kind of father sent his kid back to a place that held those kinds of memories?

"Most kids just get a car," I said.

Lionel laughed again. "Lex isn't other kids. He's different. Special. He's going to do great things."

I nodded, thinking about the pale boy with the bald head and the frosty blue eyes. I remembered his distaste as he looked up at the stained-glass. Somehow I knew Smallville wouldn't make him happy.

I probably should have said something. Something along the lines of, "Thirteen-year-old boys shouldn't know how to mastermind the downfall of a city mayor." Or maybe, "Don't you think twenty-one is a little young to be running a business?" Something that might have saved the little hairless worm from his bastard prick father. Something to settle my conscience and let me sleep at night.

But Lionel Luthor didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd take a little well-meant advice very well, particularly when it concerned his son. And one million dollars was a lot of money for a struggling investigative reporter to throw away when he owed six months rent and had a few gambling debts to pay off.

"Nice gift," I said, keeping my doubts to myself.

I never slept soundly again.


End file.
